


There's Feathers Floating

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absurd, Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean keeps being reminded of what he's done to his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Feathers Floating

**Author's Note:**

> Potential spoilers up to ep9.06. Sam is the unknowing vessel for Gadreel (still thought to be Ezekiel) throughout this fic (though he doesn't 'take over' during any sexual content, if that's a particular squick). Angst, some slightly gory imagery (blood) during sex, absurdism/experimental in style.

There's feathers floating.  
  
Dean notices it wherever Sam goes. Soft and black, some caked in blood. When he looks at his brother there's nothing there, not the slightest bulge under his shirt or any remnants of blood stains. So Dean says nothing, but picks up the feathers one by one and stores them in a jar. Who knows, maybe they could come in handy later on.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Sam sits and pools over books, trying to learn how to close the gates of Hell. Dean sits and watches Sam, thinking about how he managed to save his brother's life.  
  
Only at what cost?  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
More feathers. On the bed when Sam wakes up and trailing down the stairs as he goes to eat breakfast. For some reason, Sam doesn't notice them. How can he not notice them? Dean's taking to trailing after his brother and picking up the feathers, holding them gently in his palm. When Sam demands to know what he's holding Dean tries to hide but eventually gives up. He uncurls his palm and there's nothing but air.  
  
Sam gives him a strange look and asks if there's any eggs. Dean cooks for him and is only satisfied after Sam's had three sunny-side over with two rashes of bacon and a slice of toast. No coffee allowed because Sam's supposed to sleep.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Feathers in Dean's bed this time. He shoots upright when he sees them and his heartbeat starts hammering. When he looks around there's nobody there. Just Dean. Alone. He pitter-pats to Sam's room and attempts to open the door silently, but it still creaks on the hinge — Sam said that's for safety reasons; he's still not at home here — and Dean cringes as he steps inside.  
  
At first he thinks he's busted because Sam's seated up in bed, but one catch of his eyes from the moonlight coming from the open window tells Dean that it's okay. Or, at least in theory.  
  
"Hey Zeke," Dean says.  
  
Zeke nods and stares at Dean.  
  
"How's my brother?" He asked before going to sleep, but it seems fitting to ask again.  
  
"He is going well." Zeke doesn't drop the poker face. Dean wonders what he's doing.  
  
"Why are there feathers in my bed?"  
  
Zeke cocks his head to the side. "I do not know."  
  
The conversation drops after that and Dean goes back to bed. His pillow feels softer and he rips it open to find more black.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"Sammy." Dean reaches out across the table and grips his brother's wrist. Sam raises his head and his eyes vaguely meet Dean's. "We need to get out of here."  
  
"Why?"  
  
 _Why_ is the question of the day. The question of the fucking year. Dean can't explain  _why_ , he can only hold his brother tighter and beg. "Please," he says. "Just trust me."  
  
Of course Sam does. He doesn't have any reason not to. Yet.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
They speed through the night even after a storm picks up. The Impala's windshield wipers give up after lightning strikes less than a foot in front of them and Dean drives right on through. Blue and yellow streaking and streaming, and when Zeke glows the same Dean tells him to leave. Over and over again. Until he does and smiling Sam is back in place. In the  _right_ place — by Dean's side as they drive down crazy street. Soaked in the slick water of summer storms and blackness that doesn't come in the form of soft, broken feathers.

  
~ ~ ~

Ending up in an abandoned house wasn't in Dean's original plan, but it's as far as they get before the gas gauge goes to zero and Sam starts to look afraid.

"It's okay," Dean promises him. "Have I ever let anything happen to you?"

He's so, so grateful that Sam doesn't answer.

~ ~ ~

  
_(That's my job, isn't it? Looking after my pain in the ass little brother?)_

~ ~ ~

Dean fails his job on a dusty, holey mattress in the aforementioned abandoned house. But, when he thinks about the alternatives — like  _Sam dying_ — he can't bring himself to care.

Sam is fluttering in and out of sleep, eyelids rapid in movement and breathing coming in staccato gasps. Dean lies down beside him, back pressed against the cracked wall and chest against Sam's warm side.  
  
"It's okay," he repeats in a mixture of whispers, murmurs, and demands. "Everything's okay. Trials are over. Promise you. You're okay."  
  
Considering Sam doesn't change with any of these words, Dean's forced to conclude that he's only saying them for himself. Even more reluctantly, he's forced to conclude that they actually make him feel a little better. Sam  _is_ okay. The trials  _are_  over. And Dean will protect his brother until the day they both die together as old men in a freaking retirement village. They've done enough.  
  
~ ~ ~

Rain is still falling, causing one of the doors to keep rattling on its hooks and slamming into the wall. Repetitive even though the wind sounds wild. Dean listens to the door and lets it lull him into a sleep that isn't really sleep, until Sam starts stirring again and his eyes open. They're fully Sam's, not one shred of Zeke.

"Hey," Dean says softly. He doesn't want to break anything.  
  
Sam makes a movement with his mouth but nothing comes out. The smile that pulls very gently at the corners of his lips is enough. Dean shuffles closer and tells himself it's because his back is killing him from where it's still trapped against the skirting-board. Sam has warm breath, but it's not coming in steady inhales and exhales.  
  
"You're okay," Dean says, and it's for himself again.  
  
Sam's smile grows. He mouths, "I'm fine."  
  
He doesn't know what's wrong with him, he hardly even asks anymore, and that breaks Dean's chest into about two million pieces. A feather lands on Sam's shoulder and Dean grips the back of his brother's head, fingers twisting into his hair that's perpetually matted but Dean doesn't know why when there's no sweat to speak of.  
  
"Go away," he growls.  
  
Sam's smile falls and his brow twists. "What?"  
  
"Fix him and go away."  
  
Sam pulls back. "Who? Dean, what's wrong?"  
  
"Don't you see them?"  
  
"See what?" Sam's starting to look afraid and Dean's so sorry for ever putting that look on this brother's face.  
  
"The fe—" Dean goes to say, but when he reaches for Sam's shoulder all he touches is skin. "Nothing." He shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry."  
  
It's another moment before Sam settles again, but once he does it's with their foreheads almost touching on the flat pillow. "You've been weird since the church."  
  
 _(None of it. None of it is true)._  
  
"Thought I was gonna lose you."  
  
"Well you didn't." The smile's back. "So relax, okay?"  
  
"I almost did. You almost died on me. How was I supposed to live with that?"  
  
 _(There isn't anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you)._  
  
"You did it once." Sam's voice is a whisper, breath tracing Dean's face.

Lisa. He means with Lisa. "It didn't last."  _Remember when you died the first time, huh? What did I do then? That was worse. When I tell you the truth you'll know that was worse._  
  
"No," Sam says. Dean can't read him. "It didn't."  
  
And, just like that, Dean knows it's okay to lean closer and touch his lips to Sam's. No more hesitation, no preamble, just lips on lips and Sam taking the slightest intake of breath. It doesn't sound particularly surprised. Dean pulls back and makes there's no trace of an angel anywhere before he can kiss Sam again and know it's Sam. It's his brother. It's more comforting than it is fucked up.  
  
Sam rolls up onto him, holds him down. Dean doesn't want to run. He grips the back of Sam's thighs instead, pulls him closer and finds his mouth again. Sam rutting up against Dean, hands bunching in his shirt, and Dean pauses with a soft-spoken, "Hey, hey", so they can both get their shirts off and Dean can run a hand up and down his brother's bare chest. He's too skinny with his ribs sticking out and chords of his neck exposed. Dean kisses over every raise he can find and Sam shakes against him, hands clenching and unclenching where they settle on Dean's shoulders.  
  
He's hard against Dean. Hard against  _his brother_ , and Dean's exactly the same way. Only he's still waiting for Ezekiel to jump out and say hi. Angels don't sleep. He's watching all of this. When Sam's fingers brush over Dean's zipper he freezes up cold. He looks up at Sam, swallows.  
  
"Please," Sam says, voice catching, breaking. His knuckles drag over Dean's cock and the pleasure-pain response leaves Dean's mouth dry.  
  
Dean nods and Sam drags down Dean's zipper and his fingers close around Dean's bare cock the second it's free. Holding, not stroking, eyes watching Dean's and leaning forward to press their foreheads together.  
  
"How long?" Sam asks.  
  
For a split second, Dean thinks he's talking about the possession. Then his mind gets with the program, his hand pushes down the front of Sam's pants that now hang from his hips and Sam gasps when he finds heat. "Too long."  
  
"I want you to fuck me," Sam says, solemn. He presses closer against Dean. "Wanted to since we were kids. Needed to when you went to Hell, but—"  
  
He cuts off with a strangled moan as Dean twists his wrist.  
  
"But what?" Dean asks, keeps moving his wrist and tries to contain his breathing when Sam's hand starts squeezing. He's not even sure if Sam's aware of what he's doing. His eyes are closed and his teeth are pressed into his bottom lip. It's fucking exhilarating, seeing that.  
  
Sam's eyes flash open. He manages something resembling a smirk. "But you don't just  _ask_ tha— _fuck_."  
  
"Yes," Dean corrects. "You can."  _Would have saved me a fuck-load of years trying to fuck you outta my system._  
  
Eyes closing again, the smirk grows into a smile and Sam rocks forward into Dean's continually moving hand. "Fuck me then."  
  
Dean really doesn't need to be asked a third time.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Well, at least until they're both naked and the reality sets in that: a) Sam is  _his brother_ and b) Sam is possessed by an angel, who is trying to  _keep him alive_. It doesn't help that there are feathers in the corner of his vision. When he turns to look, they're gone.

"'s the matter?" Sam asks. Eyes hooded and cock hard. Rubbing slowly, gently against Dean's. The smallest bit of friction that Sam seems to be making on a subconscious level. Dean doesn't dare ask for more.  
  
"Nothing." Dean leans forward and kisses Sam, sucking his bottom lip between his before finding his neck and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the rain flecked skin. No salt, no sweat.  
  
"Then get a move on." Sam's words are finished with the lightest air of laughter. So calm and casual in the face of  _this_. He'd probably be different if he knew the whole truth  _(which he won't, 'cause Zeke is gonna patch him up and get the hell outta dodge)_.  
  
Kissing Sam again, Dean slowly trails his hand down his brother's back, cupping his ass and drawing him closer until his finger can circle the rim and Sam takes in a harsh rush of breath.  
  
"Grab my jeans," Dean murmurs. "Back pocket."  
  
Sam does. He holds up a bottle and looks down at Dean, confusion clear.  
  
Dean manages a smirk. "Always come prepared?"  
  
Sam grabs Dean's face and slots their mouths together. Rough, hungry. Like he's dying and Dean thinks that might not be so far from the truth. He pulls back, quickly pops the cap on the bottle and slicks his fingers up. Pushing two inside, Sam rocks back down onto him. Fingers twisting, trying to find—  
  
" _Dean_." Sam rocks down harder, so Dean figures it works. "More. Come on,  _more_."  
  
No angel. No blue flashes of light. And only a couple of feathers floating up to the ceiling. Dean figures that's a good sign, that maybe they can get away with this and have nothing change. Well. Nothing that matters, anyway.  
  
"Dean." This time the name comes out like a sigh.  
  
Their foreheads press together and Dean takes the chance to work in a third finger, causing Sam to grip tighter onto Dean's shoulders, pulling them impossibly closer together.  
  
"You gotta," Sam says. His lips brush over Dean's ear.  
  
Yeah. He's gotta. His dick strains against Sam's thigh. From the corner of his vision those feathers are sticking to the peeled wallpaper walls. Less now, much less.  
  
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says. He licks his lips. "Okay. Let's do this."  
  
He can feel Sam smile.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
They don't need to rearrange much. Just Sam's legs on either side of Dean's, and one of Dean's arms wrapped around his brother's back to hold him steady. Dean's body slick with sweat and Sam's a few stray drops of rain that haven't absorbed into his skin. Sam looks human and Sam feels human. Dean clings onto that.

"You sure?" Dean has to ask. "You can back out."  
  
The look Sam gives him convinces Dean he just might be crazy.  
  
" _You_  backing out on  _me_?" Sam asks, all breath. Maybe they shouldn't be doing this based on that alone. Sam hasn't got all his strength up yet.  
  
Still, Dean shakes his head. "No way little brother."  
  
He can  _feel_ Sam thrum with those words, and Dean's own cock grows more incessant, begs along with Sam for him to finally do this. Now or never. Even if Dean is waiting for Sam's eyes to flicker, to change, to show something Dean wants to forget even exists. Sam shifts and brings him back to reality.  
  
"Want you," Sam tells him.  
  
And fuck, Dean wants Sam too. More than anything out there, angel be damned. Lines his cock up with Sam's ass and slowly brings Sam down, hands shifting so Sam stays steady, steady. Really too weak to be doing any of this but neither of them are stopping anytime soon. Sam murmurs something under his breath that Dean doesn't catch but it's still Sam's voice, his tone.  
  
It's hot and tight and he goes inside Sam less than an inch at a time before pausing, stroking his brother's back, trying to get his mind together again. Sam's hands cradle his head and his fingers clench, unclench, twisting in Dean's hair even if it is too short to really find much leverage in. He tenses suddenly and Dean stops.  
  
"Hurt?" he asks, ready to pull the hell away and try a different approach.  
  
"No," Sam says. "No. Just...thought I saw something."  
  
"What?" Dean tries to say, but Sam's urging his face up and they're kissing again before the word is fully formed. Sam sinking down onto him and starting thrusts that are slow and not altogether steady.  
  
Dean's not complaining; he doesn't think he could ever manage steady again, but he also feels Sam slowly, hears his breathing grow laboured and guesses what it means. Only a few weeks since the trials ( _since he fucking died_ ), and Dean draws up a leg to help hold Sam steady and firmly against him, leaning up so his brother's cock manages to brush across his stomach at every thrust. Hands firm, solid, and Sam's own fingertips giving feather-light brushes to Dean's thigh.  
  
It's not how Dean imagined it when he'd jerk off at night. Fist in his mouth and Sam less than three feet away from him. His brother doesn't even snore when he sleeps and his breathing hardly grows heavy. So Dean never, never knew if Sam was really asleep or if he was watching, hearing,  _knowing_ that it was the word "Sam" Dean had to physically restrain himself from saying each and every time he came on a set of ratty motel sheets. No, this is nothing like those fantasies. But Dean's not trading it in for anything thing else.  
  
He sucks one of Sam's nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the raised flesh and earning more hitches of breath from his brother. He wonders how different Sam would be if he were well again. How loud Dean could get him. But these sounds? These little murmurs? Dean's not letting those stop. Even if the feathers are back into his vision and Dean still doesn't get why they exist. He closes his eyes, he _feels_.  
  
That's when he feels the wet warmth spreading onto his hands from Sam's back. Tacky while his mind is trying to click between that and the feeling of perfect heat holding his cock.  _Blood,_ finally springs to mind, and Dean holds up his hand to see the red drying over his palm.  
  
"Dean?" Sam whispers and Dean leans forward, holding himself tighter against Sam and squeezing his eyes closed.  
  
He can  _feel_ them now, falling and brushing over his shoulders. But the feathers aren't real. He doesn't get why they're here. A message from Ezekiel? Dean's sure he could find something more  _effective_ than soft black fucking feathers floating around. As far as he knows they're not poisonous, it's not like anyone else can see them. He's going crazy because they exist and there's no reason for it.  
  
"C'mon, Sammy," Dean says, pushing that all away and focusing on his brother again. He brings his eyes open and finds Sam's, smiles. Regardless of anything —  _angels, death, lies, pain_ — this is still so fucking amazing. All he dreamed about.  
  
Dean wants to work a hand between them and take Sam's cock, but that  _blood_. Only, when he looks down, there's nothing there but clear skin. Crazy. He's going crazy. But so long as Sammy's safe, there's worse things that could happen. So he reaches down, wraps a loose fist around his brother's cock, and flicks his thumb over the head. Until Sam's shaking against him, a "Dean" falling from the tip of his tongue, and hot come hits Dean's stomach. Only another thrust and he's doing the same, inside Sam, inside his brother.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"Sam, Sam, Sam," says Dean long after it's over. He's not even sure if it's just an echo against the pounding rain and sudden thunder.

For whatever reason Sam seems to gain the strength that Dean lost via orgasm. He pulls himself off, grabs his shirt and wipes it to clean up Dean's stomach. Dean doesn't even bother with telling him how gross that is. Then Sam kisses him and leaves out any traces of tongue, and Dean doesn't complain that it's pointless unless there's some lead up to something.  
  
Sam's turn to sleep with his arm thrown over Dean's chest. Dean closes his eyes and ignores the feathers.


End file.
